


The Universe's Lullaby

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s the universe’s lullaby and he drowns in it.





	The Universe's Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> this is an old fic i was nervous about posting but writing it took me months and was heavy coping and therapy for me and it might help others cope so im posting it up again

...

At the age of fourteen Morty’s first heat strikes him like a match, quick and scorching hot. As it seems, luck is never on his side, born an omega in a dimension that viewed him as little more than a child bearing oven and blessed with less than average intelligence, his first heat suffocates him as they fly through the stars in the small confines of Rick’s ship.

 The universe and timing itself hates him.

And as stupid as Rick thinks he may be, Morty isn’t clueless he notices the exact second Rick catches on, notices the flair of his nostril as he draws in Morty’s sweet ripe scent—noticed the way Rick had looked at him the past few months as they worked together in the garage.

“J-jesus fuUUGhcking Christ, Morty!? You couldn’t hold it in until we g-got home,” Rick groans, knuckles clenched white around the steering wheel.

“I-It doesn’t work that way, Rick,” Morty flushes, humiliated. Why did this have to happen now? Why couldn’t he be at home, where he could ease his growing pleasure in solitude? He shoves his hands between his legs in an attempt to hide his growing erection, squeezes his thighs shut in an attempt to staunch the rush of liquid seeping through his worn jean shorts.  His head is quickly growing heady, bones achy, and stomach muscles cramping. He groans, “I-is it supposed to hurt? I feel like I’m going to die.”

“You t-think I fucking know what goUUGhing through heat is supposed to feel like, Morty? Do I look like a w-whiny omega to you? Do you t-think I have a fucking womb?!” Rick’s teeth grind, jaw tight and brow drawn down in not only annoyance but an alpha’s struggle when faced with the saccharine hormones a heated omega admits.

Morty frowns against Rick’s condescending tone, hating the way his body reacts to it, his slick pooling in the seat beneath him. The ship thick with the scent of it, sweat beads down the sharp tip of Rick’s nose, his knee twitching as he fights against it

“Rick—“ Morty breathes, shaking with the fiery tendrils of his heat. Rick’s freezes next to him, eyes focused into the space ahead. But Morty knows by the growing bulge in Rick’s khaki trousers he’s fighting the urge to rut.

“The-the shit y-you put me through, Morty—“ Rick starts before slamming the ship into auto-pilot and slamming their lips together, lost in it like a wild animal. Rick was never one to deny himself his addictions. Deftly he unflicks Morty’s seatbelt, tugging the small boy into the back of the ship, discarded whisky bottles clacking as they fall together, a tangle of woven limbs.

…

It all becomes a blur of skin to Morty, Rick’s calloused palms sliding down his ribs, Rick’s tongue against his own, Rick’s weight settling between his chubby thighs as he presses into Morty’s waiting entrance. It all becomes one bright watercolor painting, muddy colors and heavy breaths, their skin painted silver by the vast expanse of stars. When it’s finished, they lay intertwined, Rick’s knot connecting them together. Morty’s sighs, the numbing effect of his heat wearing off, the stretch of his thighs and the aching fullness of Rick’s knot becoming strikingly apparent.

He paws at his belly, swollen with Rick’s cum, Rick’s dick still twitching and spurting inside of Morty. Morty wonders when it will stop, he doesn’t know if his body can take much more.

Rick is heavy and silent against him and Morty runs his fingers through the old man’s thinning hair, “W-was I good? D-did you like it?” He asks, seeking out Rick’s approval as he often does, whether it be on an adventure or now in sexual bliss.

Shifting his weight onto his elbows, Rick eye’s Morty, clumsily grasping at the bottles around them. Finding one still with a little swill at the bottom, Rick chugs it, burping loudly, “I spilled my load, didn’t I, M-morty?”

“You d-don’t need to be an ass, Rick,” Morty huffs, pride a little more than damaged by Rick’s statement. He didn’t know what he was expecting, Rick to shower him with praise and tell him how great he felt, it was pretty damn unlikely. Morty regrets getting his hopes up.

 “Ah, h-how long does it stay like that?” Morty says, motioning towards Rick’s dick still buried within him, growing more uncomfortable with the feel of it, flustered by the sight of it—his heat no longer hiding his insecurities and embarrassments.  He just mated with his eighty year old grandpa. And he’d wanted to for a while. Rick was an alpha above all alpha’s, broad shouldered, confident, cunning, smart—commanding and demanding attention—everything Morty’s little omegan heart beat for.

“So e-eager to get rid of me, Morty?!” Morty frowns. “Give it a few more minutes, MoUGHrty,” Rick grunts playing with Morty’s cum plumped belly, Morty flinches at the feel of it and Rick chuckles. “Shit, dawg! T-there is no way y-you’re not knocked up.”

Morty’s heart lurches in his throat, his body electrified with panic. He tries to scoot away from Rick, screeching when Rick’s knot tugs painfully within him. Rick tugs him back down by the hips, “Morty, calm th-the fuck down.”

“Oh jeez,” Morty hyperventilates, pulling at his hair as his body feels suddenly all too cold despite the warmth of Rick’s skin against his own.“I-I can’t have a kit!”

Rick rolled his eyes, readjusting Morty’s thighs around his thin hips, “Well, you’re proOUGHbably gonna be saddled down with one, Morty.”

Morty wants to scream, _‘Well, you will too.’_  but in all likely hood he knows that isn’t true.  Rick didn’t stick around for his first child, what made this one any different.  Morty’s stomach twists, nausea building in his throat, sour and bitter, “I can’t go home unmarked,” He says instead. He rubs at the crook of his throat, skin unblemished, free from the indentations of his alpha’s teeth. He feels suddenly alone, wants nothing more than to push Rick off of him and head home so he can bury his face and his tears in his bedroom pillow.

“G-good luck with that, M-morty. Commitment is a bunch OUGhf bullshit,” Rick belches, searching the bottles around them for another sip of his vice. He groans when he comes up empty handed, “You don’t see the _Zipdorfs_ branding their mates a property. T-that shit only exists in our f-fucking dimension, Morty. I-it’s just hormonal primitive shit, Morty.”

It may be primitive, but it mattered to Morty and the dimension he lived in. An umarked mated omega was taboo, ostracized and outcast by society. He’d be the talk of the town, heads would turn and people would spit. He cringes at the thought of it, but forces it away. There’s no point, there’s no winning with Rick, Rick has a wider and cynical view of the universe, a view well beyond the world Morty lived in. Morty wonders if he ever truly felt love for anything beyond science. Wearily Morty sighs, running his finger tips of the sharp stubbled edge of Rick’s jaw, hoping to settle some peace between them, “W-will you at least help me change some diapers?”

…

The family doesn’t take the news of Morty’s pregnancy well. Beth turns to her wine glass. Jerry’s face burns red with anger and the accusation that Morty brought shame to their family. Summer offers Morty pitying glances and sad smiles, Morty thinks this is the worst. He finds comfort in Rick’s arms at night, while the house is dark and silent, he breaths in Rick’s scent and counts his ribs to rid his mind of his troubles and fears. Rick offers him little words, but never complains when Morty slips under the blankets and into the curve of his armpit.             

And although he hates lying to his parents, when they confront him about the father, Morty fiddles his thumbs and cheeps it was a guy from school, a pointless fling beneath the baseball bleachers. Maybe it’s even worse than the truth, but Morty can’t bear the disappointment in his mother’s eyes if she finds out what her own father did. It isn’t exactly illegal in the eyes of the law, but incestuous mating had all but faded out of popular culture in the early nineteen forties. In recent years even certain activists lobbied against it. It’s just another piece of shame Morty carries with him.

He drops out of school when he starts to show—his scent changing to indicate is impregnation—when other kids in the hallway whisper behind his back, raising the fine hairs on his arms and neck, nothing they say overly threatening, but it’s the point and the pain behind their cruel words and hidden sneers that sends Morty fleeing. Rick is proud to have Morty home and out of school, always believing he was the one who could teach Morty everything he needed to know about the vast universes and worlds. Morty is indifferent, never really fond of his struggling education but not wanting to miss out on a vital part of his childhood experience.

…

“Rick—NGH!! St-stop trying to distract me!!” Morty pants, fingers wound in Rick’s fine hair, making no attempt to push him away despite his protests.  Rick’s mouth teases the curve of Morty’s newly developed breasts, sealing his lips over Morty’s pink nipple. Arching his back, Morty nearly screams, the painful pressure in his breast beginning to unravel as Rick sucks lightly, a sudden rush of liquid filling the older man’s mouth.

Rick swallows Morty’s sweet milk quickly, adam’s apple bobbing as he does, humming as he continues to drink, rough fingers kneading at Morty’s soft chest. It’s wrong, Morty thinks, it has to be. Surely something meant for his child’s sustenance can’t be giving both of them pleasure, but it is. Morty’s dick already twitching in interest, slick already wetting his inner thighs.  But everything is wrong about them, Morty will not only be giving Rick his next child, but also his great grandchild, and although it brought shame to the core of Morty’s being, Rick remained unphased by it, proclaiming, _“T-the universe is filled with a lot of fucked up things, M-moOUGhrty, this-this is hardly one of them.”_ His words however did little to tamper Morty’s guilt.

Morty knees at Rick’s side when he feels the baby kick, a few hard strikes against his bladder. Rick grunts, milk dribbling from his lips as he frowns, “J-jesus Christ, M-morty, dramatic much!?”

Morty flushes, frustrated, “I didn’t tr-try to knock out your kidney on purpose, the baby kicked and it surprised me,” Rick rolls his eyes and Morty continues, grabbing Rick’s cheeks and forcing his open lips away from his leaking breast, “I don’t think she likes you stealing all her food.”

“NOUGHht like she can drink it yet, M-morty,” Rick says, allowing himself to be pushed away. With a burp he slides down Morty’s body pressing lips and kisses to the rise of Morty’s large and swollen tummy, Morty squirms against the ticklish feel of it.  “Hey, sweetie, y-you’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” Rick purrs softly while still spattering kisses across the expanse of Morty’s stomach, their child settling down, her movements still.

A thread of jealousy weaves its way through Morty’s ribs and he despises the pull of it. Rick showed their child a tenderness he never provided Morty, his wrinkled cheek pressed to the expanse of Morty’s tummy as he hummed as if the rise of Morty’s stomach was disconnected from Morty’s body, a whole separate being and in a way it truly was. But that didn’t stop Morty from wishing Rick showed him that same gentleness. He is however glad that Rick quickly accepted their daughter, no matter the envy he feels. He had feared when Rick took him to his ultrasound—one at a hospital in another universe so Morty wouldn’t face ridicule—that things would change between them, that Rick would put a distance between—reject him—but when the cool gel passed over Morty’s stomach and a grey blur appeared on the screen, Rick had grinned and gave Morty’s messy hair a pat sending Morty’s heart into an erratic beat.

 _“Looks like I’ll be having another daughter,”_ Rick said and Morty fought back his tears.

“Rick! Will y-you stop distracting me?” Morty huffs finding himself back in the present, Rick sitting above him brow raised.

“Y-you’re not going, Morty,” Rick says sternly, unzipping his khakis and working himself into full mast.

Crossing his arms, Morty tries his hardest to retain his anger while ignoring the movement of Rick’s hand, his mouth going dry, toes curling as Rick lets out a low guttural moan. “Y-you’re an ass, Rick, this isn’t going to work. I’m going with you.”

“Don’t whine like a baby, M-morty,” Rick huffs, fingers curving into the waist of Morty sweatpants pulling them down—Morty lets him, skin feeling hot—exposing his thick thighs and small hard dick. “Th-this isn’t some adventure to Blips and Chitz, Morty. This is s-some hardcore shit, Gultorf is a f-fucking dangerous place.”

“I’ve dealt with d-dangerous before, Rick,” Morty sighs as Rick turns him onto his hands and knees, giving his plump rump a loud slap. Morty lets out an indignant yelp, angered when Rick refuses to listen to him. “Y-you need me anyway, Rick. I’m your cloak,” Morty loathes saying it, never knowing how close to the truth it is, how far Rick’s care for him spreads. It’s something he thinks of often and wishes he didn’t, it leaves him feeling all too fragile and alone as if he’s a broken part of something that will never be whole.

Fingers dig into Morty’s hips as Rick aligns his dick with Morty’s wet and ready entrance, he slides in, inch by painful inch, leaving them both breathless and keening. Morty buries his face in Rick’s scratchy blanket, overwhelmed by the scent of him, alpha pheromones, stale sweat, and old whisky. It leaves Morty shaking and weak, his resolve waning. He wants to curse Rick out for how easily he melts, manipulated beneath Rick’s strong hands, instead he moans as Rick begins to move—a steady rhythm.

“I—“ Rick grunts, hips slamming into Morty’s ass, a cacophony of slapping skin and squeaking cot filling the room, “D-don’t need a cloak for this, Morty. Nghh—Just meeting an old Gultorfian friend to exchange weapons.”

“T-that doesn’t sound so dangerous,” Morty starts.

Rick cuts him off, “The answer is no, k-kid. Not in y-your current state. W-what the fuck am I supposed to say bringing you a-along? _‘Here’s my seven month pregnant grandsOUGhn.’_ N-not fucking happening.”

Morty whines as Rick hits his prostate, knowing he’s losing the argument—as he often does with Rick, “I w-wonder who’s fault that is?”

“NiOUGhce try, Morty,” Rick huffs heavily with effort, canting his hips, pace slowing. In his old age Rick tired out quickly, frequently asking Morty to ride him to climax. Morty however is currently too irritated to give him the pleasure, “B-but you can’t blame me for all your life’s problems.”

As if sensing this, Rick pulls out, flipping Morty over, taking both their dicks in hand as he begins to stroke. Morty’s eye lids flutter, strikes of black ink against his flushed dewy cheeks. He grips the bed sheets, throws his head back, and gives in to Rick.

…

Morty wakes up alone in his own room—most likely carried there by Rick in the middle of the night—morning light filtering through his window. He groans, back aching as he stretches and makes his way downstairs. He finds Summer seated on the couch, phone in hand while an episode of Say Yes to The Dress plays in the background. She doesn’t notice him as he quietly passes her by, making his way towards Rick’s garage.

Hesitantly he steps in, the scent of gasoline tickling Morty’s heightened senses.  He scrunches his nose against it. The garage is empty, Rick’s ship long gone, off to planet Gultorf or whatever. Morty sighs, as greatly as he wishes he could have gone with Rick, he knows—as much as his stubbornness and anger wishes he didn’t—that Rick is right. For their child’s safety he should take a rest from adventures for the time being, even if he felt bored or lonely without Rick, even if he worried for Rick’s safety while he was alone or what Rick was doing while he was alone.  Biting his lip and pushing aside his insecurities, Morty leaves the garage deciding breakfast would be easier on his stomach than thinking of Rick.

…

By the third day Rick is gone Morty begins to worry. Summer assures him it’s fine but Morty knows it’s unusual for Rick to not have returned after twenty four hours.  He hides his fears as he nests curled up in the family’s coat closet, nestled in a pile of Rick’s worn sweaters the strong virile scent of an alpha calming his frayed nerves if only for a moment.  Rick seemed smitten by their unborn daughter, he couldn’t abandon her, Morty tries to tell himself, loathing the amount of doubt that comes with it.

By the third week Rick is gone all of Morty doubts are confirmed and anger replaces his sorrow full force. He stiffens when Summer mentions Rick. Grinds his teeth and clenches his fists when he hears his mother cry over Rick. He can’t forgive Rick for this. Hates the fact that he’ll grow up hating him, the father of his child. He hates himself for not being ready for the anguish Rick caused even though every ounce of him expected it—even if he hadn’t hoped for it. He hates that at night consumed with his loneliness his sorrow returns, curls around his ribs and his bones sucking the breath from his lungs, tears stinging his eyes and wetting his cheeks. He hides his sobs in his pillow, curling in upon himself when he feels the baby kick. It was easier to be angry, he feels weakened by this.

…

Five days short of his due date Morty goes into labor. The pain long and excruciating, he digs his heels into the hospital bed with it, feeling as if his very being is being torn apart. He fights against his thoughts of Rick as the baby fights to force its way out of his body. He threads his fingers through Summer’s and bites his lip until he tastes blood. He loses, thoughts of Rick flooding him. He thinks of Rick’s fingers curled around his, Rick’s grip firm and palm calloused. Rick calling him a pussy for crying through the pain, all the while softly telling Morty to breath, _‘Y-you gotta breathe through it, Morty. YOUghu gotta breathe, baby.’_ Because Rick was like that. He thinks of Rick while the scowling nurses—most likely thinking him lowly for being unmated—tell him to push.

He feels a release of pressure, a dull ache, and then a cry fills the room. He doesn’t realize it’s partly his own. He closes his eyes, head swimming with the scent of blood and sweat.

“Oh, Morty, she’s beautiful,” He hears Beth murmur.

Wearily he cracks open an eye, shifting when a nurse holds out a bundle to him. Gently he reaches out to accept it, carefully drawing his baby towards his chest, her face scrunched up in tears. He places a kiss to her brow, brushing aside her tuft of brown hair. He imagines Rick doing the same, heart lurching with the thought of it. Rick would have been a good father, Morty knows, if he had stuck around long enough.

“I know, baby,” He says, wiping a little tear from her cheek, “I know.”

… 

He names her Rose.

…

It takes him weeks to get accustomed to breastfeeding, the tug of it, his nipples sore. It feels nothing like when Rick had suckled him and for that Morty is glad, he doesn’t want to be reminded of how good Rick could make him feel, it only reminded him of what he lost. He traces the shell of Rose’s ear, humming softly as she nurses. She’s his world now, no more escapades amongst the stars, just small hands resting against him and her soft blue eyes.

…

Morty goes into heat four months after giving birth. It’s the first of many heats he spends alone, clutching the bed sheets and whining Rick’s name as he works a toy—one Jerry bought him during his pregnancy much too his embarrassment—in and out of his slick opening. He’s vulnerable in those moments, needing Rick, shaking with it. The toy doing little to dull his desire for a real connection, imagining Rick’s smell enveloping him, the feel of Rick’s lips against his own, the weight of Rick’s body driving him into the mattress. He activates the toy’s artificial knot as he comes, cringing at the feel of it. It’s filling and states his body’s natural inclinations—an omega’s heat ended once stimulated by a knot whether it be artificial or natural, if left unattended however an omegas heat could last month’s, dangerous to their wellbeing, even deadly at times—but it left him cold and wanting, lonely in the reality of it.

He pulls it out when the knot’s swelling lowers, shivering at his emptiness. Frustrated, he throws the toy across the room, drawing his knees to his chest, whimpering as he hides his face in them. He wishes it was only as simple as missing Rick’s body, but missing Rick’s body only forces him to admit how much he misses the man’s presence. He misses Rick’s laugh, his terrible jokes, and the soft way he patted Morty on the back after Morty succeeded on an adventure. He misses the things he’ll never get to experience, Rick holding their daughter, Rick gentle as he helps bathe Rose, his voice low and soothing as he reads her a bed time story.

He reaches out for his bed side table, blindly grasping at his phone. For the first time in months he dials Rick’s number, fingers working on instinct. Like the first few weeks after Rick’s initial departure the phone goes to voicemail, Morty lies back, letting Rick’s voice drift over him, conflicted with the emotions it brings him, waiting impatiently for the beep.

“You’re an asshole, y-you know that, Rick?” Morty hisses into the phone, “Y-you could have at least waited to meet her. Or were you too afraid that you might actually want to stick around after that?” Morty pauses, searching for all the words he kept bottled up, finding himself at a loss. “…I miss you…” He allows himself to say instead, letting a moment of silence pass before hanging up the phone. He wonders if Rick will even listen to it. He falls asleep wishing he said more.

…

The first time Rose gets sick she’s eleven months old. Fever high as she squirms in Morty’s arms. Terror grips Morty, fearing he’ll lose her as he searches various causes of fever in infants on Web MD. Beth consoles him, placing a kiss on his brow as she helps fill the sink with luke warm water.

“She’ll be fine, Morty. We’ll get her fever down, alright?” Beth says, running a comforting hand down Morty’s back, before gently taking Rose from him. With great care she places her in the sink, fat tears rolling down Rose’s cheeks, a screech leaving her lips as the warm water encases her fevered skin.

Instinctively Morty reaches out for her, yearning to take her in his arms and soothe her cries but Beth  halts him placing a wet hand on Morty’ chest as he steps forward. “She’s fine, sweetie. The water just feels cold to her.”

Morty bites back his worry and fears, settling against his mother’s side as she passes as washcloth over Rose’s stomach. “If R-rick were here he’d be able to—“ He catches himself saying, feeling Beth stiffen against him. He regrets his words immediately, struggling to explain himself—they hadn’t spoken of Rick since his abandonment became apparent. “I-it just he could help her, Mom. H-he could travel to some weird planet and find something to c-cure her fever s-so she wouldn’t have to suffer.”

“We don’t need him to take care of your daughter,” Beth says lifting Rose from the sink, but Morty hears the waver in her voice and knows no matter what she might say she wishes Rick were there too.

…

“Do you wanna go to McDonalds or something?” Summer asks him.

Rose is three years old, curious and creative, scribbling in a coloring book with Morty. She looks up from her paper with a giddy grin, chirping, “I wanna go to McDonalds.”

Morty’s stomach drops as he fumbles with the crayon in his hand, “W-why?”

Summer rolls her eyes, “I offer to do something nice for you and you ask _‘why?’_!  Because you never leave the house anymore that’s why! You’re becoming a hermit and you’re gonna make Rose into some weird introvert, she doesn’t see other people enough.”

Morty cringes, picking up Rose’s crayons and neatly placing them back in the box. Summer is right, although he hates to admit it, since Rose was born he only ever left the house for his or Rose’s mandatory checkups. It was easier than facing society’s criticisms and his dread that someone might violently project their beliefs on him or his daughter—it wasn’t uncommon to hear news of an unmarked omega or the kit of an unmarked omega being attacked.  But he couldn’t shield his daughter from it forever, she’d have to face their judgment eventually whether she went to public school or not.

Rose glances up at him with hopeful eyes—having only ever seen commercials for the food and having never been to a fast food restaurant.  Morty breaks, wanting her to have the experiences every child should, a ball nerves in his stomach as he relents. “J-jeez, Summer, just hold on and let us get ready.”

…

Morty’s palm sweats as he holds Rose’s hand, waiting in line for their food, the bitter taste of anxiety flooding his mouth. He feels as if every eye in the room is on them, feels as if the low whispers and hidden laughs are about them. He grips Rose’s hand tighter, they haven’t even started to eat and he already wants to leave.

Summer grabs their tray of food when it’s ready, leading them over to a booth by the window. Morty helps Rose into a booster seat before sitting down across from Summer and unwrapping Rose’s cheeseburger. Rose bites into her burger, unaware of Morty’s worries—he tries his hardest to hide them from her.  He smiles studying his daughter, at least she was enjoying herself, happily playing with her matchbox car in between bites of her food, making idle chatter with Summer.

“Morty fucking Smith I haven’t seen you since you let some alpha pop your cherry and knock you up.”

“Shut up,” Summer says, defensive in a way she hadn’t been in Morty’s school years.

Morty almost chokes on his chicken nugget and glances up at Frank Palicky, Summer’s highschool crush and Morty’s bully. He’d spent a lot nights nursing the bruises Frank gave him and a lot of days at school pressed up against a locker, Frank’s fingers around his throat, “Hi, Frank,” He mumbles, taking a sip of his coke, the sweetness acrid on his tongue. He doesn’t like the way Frank is looking at him, didn’t like the way Frank looked at him in the days after his first heat.

“So,” Frank whistles eyeing Rose. Morty hair stands on end. “So here’s the fabled reason you dropped out, huh?”

“Don’t call her that,” Morty hisses softly, finding difficulty in standing his ground against the alpha, his natural instinct to cower and flee. He never wanted Rose to ever get the thought in her head that she limited Morty’s life in anyway. She was the one thing that kept him going.

Time stills for Morty as Frank reaches forward, pale fingers tracing a line down the column of Morty throat—where an alpha’s mark should be. Frank’s breath ghosts over his cheek and Morty recoils, stomach twisting, a dull buzzing stinging his ears. “You still giving it away for free, because my cars parked out back if you want a good ride?”

Summer reacts before Morty even has a chance to push him away, her arm swinging back, fist connected with Frank’s nose. Frank recoils, clutching his face, blood pooling in his palms. “You bitch.”

“Really! You’re gonna call me a bitch when you just tried to sexual assault my brother?”

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault your brother’s the town slut.”

Morty hears a pair of old omegas whisper about the sins of being mated and unmarked. He shrinks in his seat, if the eyes of the restaurant hadn’t been on him before, they’re certainly on him now.

Rose reaches for Morty, fearful in the commotion. Morty pulls her into his lap, “S-summer, let’s just go.”

“We’re not gonna leave just because of this ass—“ She stops when catches sight of them, Rose tearful in Morty’s arms. Morty struggling with the onslaught of his own tears. She softens seeing them, sending Frank one last glare, “Try something again and I’ll cut your fucking balls off,” She stands her ground as Frank flips them off and storms away, “You sure you wanna go?” Summer says sadly, turning her attention to him.

“Yeah,” Morty whispers, noticing the audience they’ve gathered as he packs up their food. “I think it’s for the best.”

…

“—I mean this is why we need omegan rights! It’s 2016 already people!” Summer rants on the drive home, still simmering from the incident.

Morty watches his reflection in the passenger window, resting his cheek against the cool glass. Rose talks to her doll in the back seat.

He wants to yell, tell Summer this was why he didn’t leave the house, tell her it was a bad idea for them to even go—to expose Rose so early to the violence she’d no doubt later face—but he doesn’t have the energy. “He’s r-right you know, I am the town slut”

Summer sighs, “No you’re not, Morty, you made one small mistake—“

Morty cringes at that, because while he would never consider Rose a mistake, he considered loving Rick one.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Summer says catching herself.

“I know,” Morty runs a hand through his hair, breathing out and fogging the glass, cutting a straight line through it with his finger, “It’s just I-I liked what we did and unbonded omegas aren’t supposed to, you know? He made me feel good.”

“Morty—“

“I l-loved him, Summer, and he-he fucking left me,” Morty cries, hating his tears and hating himself, because saying it only made him want Rick more.

“Oh, Morty, I’m so sorry,” Summer murmurs, reaching out and gripping Morty’s knee.

“Are you okay, daddy?” Rose asks from the back seat, small voice raised in concern.

Morty wipes at his tears, “I’m fine, sweetie,” He says, because he has to be.

…

One month later, Morty sits in the living room, Rose by his feet as she plays with her cars. He flips through the TV channels, a loud crash from the garage startling the remote from his hand.

“What was that?” Rose asks, distracted from her play, a worried look on her chubby face.

Morty has a sinking feeling he knows exactly who and what it was and he he’ll slap the hell out of them as soon as he sees them—anger surging in his veins.

“Go off and find, grandma, okay?” Morty tells her, keeping a calm façade. She hesitates, looking back over her shoulder before running into the kitchen.

Like a storm he rages off towards the garage, shoulders squared and fists clenched, trying to look as imposing as an omega can look—ready to make Rick pay for the hell he’d put him and his family through. Breathing in deeply and summoning up all his courage he pulls the garage door open, faltering in his step when he sees what’s waiting for him.

“Oh my god, R-rick?”

The spacecraft in the garage is dented and unfamiliar—not Rick’s homemade one—but it’s not the ship that shocks him, it’s Rick leaning against it, clutching his side, prison uniform bloodied, skin bruised and grimy, hair mated. Rick fumbles on his footing, legs ready to give out and Morty can read clear pain written across his face. Morty tells himself it’s not weakness as he rushes to Rick’s side, supporting his weight, it’s just his natural omegan instinct to care, he’ll save his anger for later. “Wh-what the hell happened to you?”

“Not now, Morty. J-just help me inside, I need to take a fURghcking bath,” Rick groans, leaning against Morty.

“You n-need medical attention,” Morty starts but Rick hushes him.

“It’s nothing y-your ole grandpa can’t take.”

Morty opens his mouth to retort, but quickly stops himself, there wasn’t a point with Rick. Struggling to brace Rick’s weight he walks them into the house, stopping when Beth meets them halfway into the living room, Rose balanced on her hip.

“Dad?!”

“H-hey, sweetie,” Rick says softly, almost apologetically and Beth breaks with it. Throwing an arm around her father—Rose sandwiched between them—pressing her tears into his throat. Morty wants to do the same, to give up and give in, to cling to Rick and to all that he meant but he can’t allow himself, can’t forgive Rick for the nights he spent alone—for having to raise their child alone. He keeps his distance.

“Where have you been? What happened to you? Are you okay?” She asks.

Rick places a kiss on Beth’s temple before pulling away, one arm looped around Morty as his free hand reaches out to ruffle Rose’s soft brown hair, avoiding Beth’s question as he had with Morty’s, much to Morty’s annoyance and frustrations—he owed them. “W-who’s this cute little girl?”

“Believe it or not this is Morty’s daughter, Dad,” Beth wipes away her tears, smiling down at Rose. Morty tightens his grip on Rick’s prison uniform, terrified, he’s wanted this for too long—wanted Rick caring and connecting with their daughter. Rick looks curious as he studies Rose, as if he’s taking apart one of his scientific contraptions—one Morty couldn’t even begin to understand—careful as he runs his knuckles down her chubby cheeks but there is a hint of fondness in Rick’s eyes that remains unhidden. Morty heart swells with it.

“Her name is R-rose,” Morty adds, “Rosie, t-this is your—“ Morty pauses, stumbling over his tongue and teeth, the word father stuck between them. Rick eyes him, brow raised as if daring Morty to speak the truth Morty sticks with half truths, although it pains him—Rose deserved to know her father just as Beth did, “this is y-your, grandpa Rick.”

“Hi,” Rose says shyly, avoiding Rick’s eyes as she clutches Beth’s arm.

“H-hi, baby,” Rick says, resting his cheek on Morty’s head and the earth collapses beneath Morty’s feet.

…

Morty helps Rick upstairs, runs the bath water and helps remove Rick’s clothing. He winces when he sees Rick’s fresh wounds and new scars, pink raised lines against his pale skin. He runs a finger over a fat cut on Rick’s chest, feeling Rick’s skin quiver beneath him. Rick pulls Morty hand away, presses a kiss to Morty’s palm, mouthing over his flesh and Morty lets him, sensing something desperate in Rick.

“Wash my hair for me, will y-ya? I think my rib’s f-fucking broken, hurts like a bitch to move my arm.”

“Al-alright,” Morty relents, supporting Rick as he steps into the tub, “But we really should get you to a hospital a-afterwards.”

“I-I already told you, MOUrghrty I don’t need medical a-attention, I’ll be fine.”

Morty frowns but doesn’t further argue, urging Rick to dunk under and wet his hair. Rick obliges with a groan, water tinged pink with blood. Morty grabs for the shampoo, squirting some in his hand, the sweet scent of berries filling the room as he works Rick’s hair into a lather—working out the knots and kinks. It’s intimate, more intimate then sex Morty thinks, vulnerable as he leans over Rick, water sloshing over the side of the tub and dampening his shirt as Rick sighs.

“Y-you’ve got good fingers, Morty,” Rick says after rinsing his hair, soap bubbles clinging to his knobby knees.

“Y-yeah, whatever, Rick,” Morty says, blushing and uncomfortable because Rick never really told him he had good anything before.

“Did y-you miss me?” Rick asks, lips ghosting over Morty’s and for once he tastes sober. His wet fingers curling around the nape of Morty’s neck, water dripping down the collar of Morty’s shirt.

Morty shivers, his desire—his need—to melt into Rick’s kiss and skin crawls up his spine, but he swallows it down, pushing frustrated at Rick’s slippery chest until their lips separate. He feels used.“Y-you can’t just-just come back and expect to pick up where you left off, Rick!” His voice echoes off the tile, sharp and shrill.

Tears sting his eyes but he wills them away, not wanting to give Rick the pleasure of seeing him cry—of how greatly he truly did miss him. It’d only give Rick more power and he already held power over Morty.

“M-morty—“

“No, you don’t get to come back and p-play with me like I’m your toy again! B-because I’m not, Rick! I’m not just some toy you get to use and throw away when y-you’re bored!”

“J-jesus christ,Morty! Will you shut up and stop y-your pissy rant for one second?!” Rick hisses as he stands, wavering on his feet as he steps out of the tub. He grabs a towel from the rack, nearly smacking Morty in the face with it.

Morty seethes, nails digging crescent moons in his palms, years of pent up anger blossoming, “Y-you think you can just s-silence me, Rick! W-well I won’t stop, you can’t—“

“Morty, s-stop fucking talking like y-your leading some social justice movement,” Rick grunts, rubbing the towel over his thinning hair and over his face with a frustrated sigh, he speaks, muffled in the terry cloth, “You’re g-gonna make me fucking say it aren’t you?”

“W-what?” Morty asks, standing on his tippy toes and trying his hardest to meet Rick’s height, falling short by quite a few inches, body shaking and face flushed with his fury.

“F-fuck it,” Rick groans, face still hidden in the towel and Morty pursues his lips and crosses his arms while he waits for Rick to speak, Rick’s voice strained as if Morty forced it out of him, “I wouldn’t h-have left you, Morty, if-if I had a choice.”

“Wait, w-what?” Morty whispers, room spinning around him, he wrenches the towel from Rick’s hand, wanting to see his face—not that he could read Rick anyway, “What’s t-that supposed to mean?”

Rick scowls, staring at the floor as Morty moves into his space, “H-he fucking sold me out, Morty. F-fucking sold me out the f-fucking feds, Morty.”

“Who?” Morty asks, warily reaching out for Rick’s hand, yearning to comfort the distressed alpha as an omega often does. Rick threads their fingers together. Morty heart beat quickens, suddenly uncertain in everything he knows.

“My fucking ‘friend’ from Gultorf, Morty. Bastard sold me out to the Galactic Federation.”

“The Galactic Federation?”

Rick rolls his eyes, as if it’s something Morty should already know, as if he’s simple for not knowing it, “The Galactic Federation, Morty, they-they think they police the fucking galaxy, Morty. G-grandpa did a lot of illegal things back in the day and the Federation has been after me ever since.”

“S-so you’ve been in jail this entire time? You-you didn’t wanna stay away?” Morty asks, unsure of what to feel, his anger an uncertain thing he holds onto, afraid of what he’ll be without it.

“No, Morty, I-I didn’t want to stay away,” Rick sighs, drawing Morty in close, Morty allows it, settling his chin against Rick’s shoulder, the skin soft and loose there. Tentatively, he warps his arms around Rick, mindful of his ribs. Rick is frail in his embrace, thinner than he used to be, years of prison and no doubt mistreatment taking their toll on his body. Rick trembles against him, their body’s flush together, his calloused and worn hands framing Morty’s face. Although he’s fully dressed Morty feels naked around him, so easily manipulated beneath Rick’s clever words and fingertips and while Morty still holds onto so small portion of his resentment, he’s putty against Rick.

“They did all this to you?”

“It’s not exactly easy escaping a Federation prison and g-grandpa had a lOUGht of secrets the Federation wanted.”

Rick had a lot of secrets Morty wanted.

“I,” Rick says after a pause, “I can’t stay, Morty.”

“W-what?” Morty chokes, pulling away, nearly tripping over Rick’s discarded towel.

“Th-the Galactic Federation is still after me, Morty, and you don’t w-wanna know what they’d do if they found me here. I blocked the t-their tracking device on the ship, but that shit is only a temporary solution, Morty, I’ve got to get on the move, Morty.”

“Wh-why did you even bother coming back?” Morty shouts, livid with himself for being utterly foolish, for indulging himself in some hopeful fantasy that Rick might stick around long enough to see their daughter grow up. He tries not to think of how heartbroken Beth will be to have her father leave again—of how heartbroken he’ll feel. Horrified that a larger part of him wants to beg Rick to stay.

“I h-had to see you,” Rick grunts, as if he hates admitting it and Morty is surprised he even does. Rick never admitted anything meant something to him. Morty never assumed he meant more to Rick then unintelligent brain waves and a warm hole to fuck, Rick never gave him an impression otherwise.

“W-why?”

“Y-you’re really full of questions today, Morty, a-aren’t you?! R-really need me to spell things out for you? Can’t read b-between the fucking lines, Morty?!”

“Jeez, Rick, you know y-you’re being a real jerk about this! Maybe I j-just wanted y-you to say you cared about me for once?” Morty says, voice small and unsure as it tapers off. Rick remains unphased by it, face blank as he takes Morty in. Morty shrinks, one inch tall beneath his stare.

“Y-you gotta come with me, Morty. You and RoUghse gotta come with me,” Rick says, tone serious, tightening his grip on Morty, his eyes desperate and wild as if he’s on K-Lax lost in the fleeting high of it.

Morty wants simultaneously to run from him and run with him. Furious that Rick would ask him to leave everything he knew. Furious with himself that the idea seemed so appealing.  It’d be easy to leave it all behind, the judgment and ridicule he faced on a daily basis—the people like Frank—the universe didn’t care if you were unmated and knocked up at fourteen. But the universe is a dangerous place, Morty knows, he’d dealt with his fair share of it with Rick, adventures that ended with them running for their life, bruised and bloodied as they portaled home away from some four armed monsters or guards with guns. He’d dealt with people like King Jellybean. They’d live from planet to planet, on the run, Rick doing something no doubt illegal to earn them money for food. Rose wouldn’t need school, could learn all she ever needed to know about the universe from Rick’s careful tutoring, sure she wouldn’t have the opportunity to make friends but she’d have them.  And Morty wouldn’t have to spend his nights alone, Rick’s arm around him as they slept huddled in a space motel bed. But he thinks of Beth, broken from not only her father leaving but her son and granddaughter too. Rose would miss her too, would miss the way Jerry tickled her stomach, and the way Summer made her belly laugh. Morty loathes to think how selfish he’d be to take her away from them, to force her into a life of constant fear and anxiety, not knowing what aliens might rip off their heads or what planet might be hostile, to risk her life and well being just to be able to kiss Rick good morning every day, never knowing when Rick might be captured or when he might die of old age, leaving them stranded amongst the stars no refuge or way home.

Morty wishes he could blindly follow Rick, but it’s not just about _them_ anymore. He’s guilt ridden as he speaks, “I’m sorry, Rick, I-I can’t.”

…

They eat dinner in relative silence, the room thick with tension. Beth on her third wine glass, her unspoken _‘Why did you leave me?’_ hanging in the air. Jerry’s and Summer’s rage unkept as they glare daggers at Rick, muttering comments under their breath as Rick reached for the salt. Morty couldn’t blame them, they all handled Rick’s abandonment in different ways.

Rick ignores them all, nursing his second beer as he cuts up Rose’s chicken for her. She picks up a piece holding it out to Rick’s lips, Rick accepts it, kisses Rose’s cheek as he chews. She giggles at the feel of it.

Morty doesn’t touch his food, can’t stomach it, as he watches Rick and Rose, not wanting a minute of this to end.

He quietly counts down the seconds until Rick leaves him.

…

“D-do you wanna help put her to bed?” Morty asks timidly, clutching a tired Rose to his chest.

Rick looks up from his conversation with Beth, both of them bordering on drunk, Morty tries to not let it bother him.

“Y-yeah, Moughrty, give me a sec—a minute I’ll be up in a second.”

…

Rick tucks Rose in as he tickles her sides. She grins brightly, framing Rick’s face with her hands as he bends over her, “I like you, Grandpa Rick.” Morty wonders if it’s a mistake, letting Rick this close, Rose would be devastated to lose him.

“I-I like you too, sweetie,” Rick says, softly.

Morty sits at the edge of the bed, shifting as Rick sits by his side holding the book Rose picked out for him to read, a story about Little Bear going to the moon, it had been one of Morty’s favorites as a kid. Rick’s voice is gravel as he talks, slurred by his alcohol but Rose doesn’t mind, she curls up with her doll, yawning wide.

Their shoulders brush as Rick leans closer to him and Morty inhales deeply, cataloging Rick’s warmth and scent into memory. He doesn’t want a moment of this to end, Rick’s heat seeping into his skin, Rick’s voice gliding over him like a lullaby, their daughter drifting off in peaceful wonder. He’ll remember it on his lonely days, while it rains in winter and he sits bundled up in the living room watching an episode of sesame street with Rose, he’ll think of Rick then, of the perfect picture him and Rose made, of how safe and secure a younger Morty felt in his protective alphan presence, of how gentle Rick’s smile felt against his pregnant tummy. He’d remember and dream.

…

They sit on the couch after the rest of the family has gone to sleep, Morty’s head resting on Rick’s shoulder as Rick watches a video on Morty’s phone of Rose taking her first steps. He watches her speak her first word—‘stars’ which makes Rick smile—he watches her first bubble bath and first laughter. He catches up on all the chances he’s missed and all the moments he didn’t experience. Morty wonders if Rick mourns the moments he’d never get to experience. Rick absorbs the videos, looking every bit as proud of his kit as an alpha papa should be.

“Hold on a-a second,” Morty says, an idea striking him, darting off the couch and into the dining room, half afraid Rick will be gone when he comes back.

He pulls down a picture from the wall, a summer snapshot of him and Rose on her third birthday, carefully removing it from the frame. Rick is still seated in the same spot when Morty returns, tapping his long fingers on his khaki covered knee.

“I-I thought you might want something to remember us by,” Morty says, sitting back at Rick’s side, holding the picture out for Rick. Rick lifts a curious brow and Morty worries Rick might retort, but he doesn’t. Instead, he accepts the photo, tucking it neatly into his lab coat pocket.

“MoUghrty,” Rick burps, gripping at the nape of Morty’s throat, scruffing him in an alphan hold. Morty goes slack with it, arms twitching uselessly at his side, a twinge of fear tickling his tongue. “Y-your a good kid, Morty,” Rick is predatory—possessive—as he leans forward, teeth connecting with the side of Morty’s throat. Morty stifles his scream at the pain that comes with being bonded, fire and agony searing through his veins and licking up his spine as his body readjusts itself to admit Rick’s scent. Tears pool from Morty’s lashes, drool from between his clenched teeth. He’s limp beneath Rick’s bite and hand.

As a marked omega he would no longer face judgment, he could walk the street without threat. He wouldn’t have to face sexual harassment or unwanted advances from sleazy alpha’s, his new scent claiming him as unattainable and undesirable to an alpha that wasn’t his. His heat would now be dry—only scented by Rick’s keen nose. He’s someone’s property now. He’s Rick’s now. Rationally perhaps he should be furious, Rick didn’t ask his consent—not that omegas often had a choice when bonding—and his suddenness was brutal. Morty only feels relieved—maybe it’s the rush of hormones or maybe it’s the fact that he’s waited/wanted this for years—as he stares up dazed at the ceiling, Rick loosening his hold as he licks at the open wound on Morty’s neck. It’s bittersweet, Morty thinks, the beginning of the end.

“W-what the hell, Rick?” Morty rasps. Rick’s objective baffling him, he didn’t want Morty when he could have him.

“C-can’t haOughve another alpha moving in on my territory while I’m gone,” Rick growls, burying his face in Morty chest. Morty runs tentative fingers over the smooth skin of Rick’s bald spot.

“I don’t want a-another alpha, Rick,” Morty says, because he thinks Rick might need to hear it. An omegan purr builds in his chest, an attempt to soothe them both, because Morty knows it will all be over too soon.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a happy e-ending, Morty,” Rick whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to Morty’s jaw, “But happy endings don’t exist.”

…

“I’ve got to get going, if-if I stay any longer the federation might track me here,” Rick says, weight resting fully against Morty as he makes little attempt to move. Moonlight filters in through the sliding glass door, cutting sharp lines across Rick’s features. Morty traces the shadows they cast beneath Rick’s eyes and kisses him deeply, with remorse.

They fuck hastily on the couch—keeping quiet as to not wake the family, careful of their movement as to not jostle Rick’s injuries—Morty riding Rick to completion, Rick all but wrecked and breathless beneath him.

“Y-your gonna give this old man a heart attack, Morty,” Rick says, looking wrecked and pleased as he frames Morty’s face between his palms. Morty relishes his praise, desperately craving Rick’s affection and attention in any way he could get it and Morty supposes it’s as close to an _‘I love you’_ as he’ll ever get.

 _I love you too_ , he thinks, the swelling of Rick’s knot loosening with in him.

Rick was his greatest sickness.

…

Morty helps Rick pack his ship full of clothes, provisions, and alcohol, resting his head against the cool metal when they’ve finished, chest tight with dread.

“Y-you got everything you need?” Morty asks, lifting his head as Rick climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, I’ll-I’ll be good for at least a week,” Rick says, starting the engine, the sound of it unraveling Morty’s already frayed nerves. Morty loathes the finality of it.

“T-take care of yourself out there, Rick, don’t—try not to do anything too dangerous,” Morty says, avoiding goodbyes and Rick’s eyes and the way he worries for Rick’s eventual safety. It’s easier pretending Rick was leaving on another adventure than accepting the reality of his permanent absence.

“Y-you gonna beat around the bush, MOUghrty or are you gonna give grandpa a kiss goodbye?”

“Oh,” Morty says softly, barely audible above the hum of the ship, surprised by Rick’s request. He approaches Rick slowly, fists thumped against his chest as Rick leans forward pressing their lips together, thumb darting out to cup Morty’s chin.  Morty sighs into, tasting the bitter tang of beer and whisky, tasting lost chances, missed opportunities and the lives they could have led. Rick kisses him, until his lungs scream for air and his heart threatens to beat from his chest. Rick kisses him like it’s the last thing he’ll do in the entirety of the Milky Way galaxy, because maybe it truly is.

“Take-take good care of Rose, Morty. Keep her safe.”

“I-I will,” Morty murmurs.

With a final kiss to each of Morty’s eyelids, Rick shuts the door to the ship. Morty’s throat tightens with unshed tears, as Rick waves for him to push the garage opener. He watches as Rick backs out of the garage, ship hovering in the drive way, hesitating as if Rick is having second thoughts. Morty almost hopes Rick will turn around, beg for him and Rose to come, and then maybe Morty wouldn’t be able to refuse. But he doesn’t, the ship simply rises, leaves fluttering and dancing below it as it ascends. Morty watches as it fades away, smaller and smaller, until it’s little more than a dot amongst stars. And just as quickly as he came, Morty watches Rick slip away.

…

He’ll have a lot to explain in the morning, hating to face Beth’s disappointment again—Summer and Jerry’s anger would be easier—as she realizes what her father had done—what the two of them had done—fearing her tears when she realizes her father was gone for good. He’ll explain everything, Rick’s abandonment, Rose’s true parentage, their bonding. He’ll explain everything to Rose, he’ll tell her about Rick, their adventures, of the countless times Rick saved his life and made him smile or made him cry, of the warmth that spread through his stomach and chest whenever Rick met his eyes. He’ll tell her how much Rick loved her and how much he loved Rick. He’d make sure she knew her father as a smart and strong man. A great alpha. He’d tell her all the good things and in time the bad things in hopes that she won’t grow up hating him for it.

He makes his way upstairs, feet carrying him to Rose’s room. He climbs into her small bed, drawing her tiny body up against him. She fidgets in her sleep, letting out a small sigh before settling down against Morty’s chest. He can’t bear to be alone, can’t stop thinking of Rick alone with the moon and the stars and his alcohol, where he’ll most likely die alone, bitter, cynical, and drunk in some dingy space motel. And Morty wonders if he forced Rick into it. He listens to the soft sound of Rose’s breaths, to the wind brushing against the side of the house. He traces the patterns on the floor her night light paints. He counts the glow stars on the ceiling, the freckles on Rose’s nose, and the number of times he kissed Rick in the last eight hours. He counts the beat of his heart, his regrets and his losses. He counts the number of wrinkles around Rick’s eyes as he laughed.

It’s the universe’s lullaby and he drowns in it.

…

 

 

 


End file.
